


It Rests Heavy On The Soul

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Reed contemplates an unpleasant aspect of his job. (06/26/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This bunny mugged me during a long drive. It wanted to be part of a longer story, but didn't fit with anything I'm working on.  


* * *

It had been a long day and Malcolm Reed was tired. He still wasn't sure that Captain Archer was right in his decision to help the Akanshi in their fight against the Meintok raiders, but the question was moot now, with the victory won. His whole security team had been involved, along with Enterprise's senior officers and every Akanshi who could handle a weapon; they were all been needed for the bitter fight. The raiders were gone, hopefully for good, and the last hours had been spent clearing the aftermath of battle; checking weapons, restoring order, attending the wounded—burying the dead.

Reed trudged through the village—little more than an encampment really—phase pistol still on his hip. He was heading towards the camp fire by the Enterprise officers' tents, where his lover, Trip, and Captain Archer were. He'd stalled as long as possible, restless, disturbed, not wanting the happy camaraderie that he knew awaited him. He felt inadequate, unable to cope with Archer's and Trip Tucker's company, but had no more energy left to put into avoiding them. Part of this, he knew, was a reaction to the adrenalin surge of the fight, but only part.

As he neared the fire he could see Archer and Tucker sitting, talking, their backs towards him. They were the only people abroad at this late hour. No, he amended as he passed the last capatchi tree, not quite the only ones. A lone figure sat on the bench outside the Akanshi weapons store, cleaning a stripped-down firearm. It was Maedra, a young mother of the tribe and fierce defender of her people, who had killed one of the two Meintok to have died today; killed him with his own knife and taken her part in the death badly. Reed changed his course and went to join her.

He stood beside the bench, watching her, but apart from one quick glance at his approach, Maedra did not acknowledge him. Eventually he lowered himself to the bench, an arm's span away from her.

'Are you all right?' he asked, watching her profile.

'If you're another one come to tell me I should be proud of what I've done, that it will get easier, you can forget it,' she snapped, not pausing in her work.

'No, it doesn't get easier. If it ever starts to get easy, that's the time to worry,' he said quietly.

She shot him a look then, as he idly picked up the sight from the weapon she was working on. 'You'd be an expert, I suppose!'

Reed ignored her sarcasm, allowing himself a tight smile and a self-deprecating snort.

'You could say that.' He twisted the sight around, watching the play of firelight on its lens, feeling the metal cold against his hands.

'How many does it take to become an expert, then? How many people have you killed?' Her voice was hard, challenging.

'Dozens, hundreds maybe, in the ships I've destroyed or damaged whilst on Enterprise,' he said, not looking at her. 'But if you mean face to face, personally, then five, including today.'

'You keep a tally? Notches on your gun?' Her response was scornful.

'I remember them.' He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the sight, gripping it tightly.

'Tell me about them.'

His head lifted at that, blinking as he looked at her. He could see his younger self mirrored in the guilt and desperation in her eyes.

'I want to know what you remember. What I should remember about the man I killed.'

'You remember what you need to.' He looked down again, his attention back on the sight.

'That's not good enough. You're an expert,' she said harshly. 'Tell me about your killings.'

Their conversation had drawn the attention of the two men at the fire. Out of the corner of his eye Reed saw them turn to face himself and Maedra. He put them out of his mind as he considered her demand. She was reassembling her weapon and reached across to take the sight from him. He looked at his hand, watching the blood flow back into his fingers. He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees and splayed out both his hands to study them—hands he used for making love, hands he used to kill.

'The first one was an accident.' He felt Maedra pause in her work, and cast a quick glance in her direction, catching the surprise on her face. Did she think he wouldn't tell her, or that he had been lying? Which? He sighed. As if it made a difference.

'I didn't mean to kill him. It was a bar fight. I stunned him with a low energy weapon but he hit his head as he went down. He died later that night. My superiors said it wasn't my fault. But he was still dead.'

'The second was a terrorist, she had hostages. You shoot to kill in a situation like that. I blew her brains out. There was an inquiry; not about the death, but because the hostages complained about being splattered with terrorist brains.' He gave a hollow laugh and linked his hands, fingers twined together, knuckles white.

'The third one was a drug smuggler. There was a fire-fight. It was a shoot-to-kill operation, and I shot him.'

'The fourth...' He paused as the memories threatened to overwhelm him, concentrating instead on the turquoise beetle crawling across the toe of his boot. Taking a deep breath, he started again. 'The fourth I killed to save my life. He attacked me, with a knife. I broke his neck to save my life.' Once again he spread his hands out, examining them, looking for some evidence of what they had done. 'Nothing else,' he murmured. 'Just to save my own life.'

'That worries you?'

'Yes!' He looked at her sharply, then dropped his gaze again.

'He attacked you.'

'You think that makes it right? He had a family who relied on him. I had...just me.'

'He was trying to kill you.'

'So I killed him.'

'I'm glad.'

He didn't react, adrift in his memories, and started when she laid a hand on his arm.

'I'm glad you killed him. Your life is worth saving.' The hard edge had gone from her voice and there was concern in her eyes.

He stared at her, disorientated, still lost in the past.

'Today, when the raider attacked you, tried to kill you...' she began.

'And I broke his neck. What?' He looked at her, the challenge in his eyes now. 'You want to know if I worried about his family?'

'If you felt the same way. That he might have a family and you are just you.'

He heaved a sigh. A log fell in the nearby fire and the glare from the sudden blaze hurt his damp eyes as he turned towards it. He saw Tucker sitting with his head bowed, Captain Archer's hand resting on his shoulder. With an effort he dragged his mind back to the present.

'No. It's not just me anymore,' he said quietly. 'But it doesn't make it any easier. Nothing makes it easier.'

'It rests heavy on the soul.'

'Yes. Yes, it does.' He stirred himself, straightening and turning to look at her. 'I'm sorry. I wanted to try and help you cope, not burden you with my...problems.'

'You have helped. Thank you. And you are not a burden. I'm sorry you had to kill the Meintok today—that you had to do it that way. But it was necessary. Your life is valuable, your cause was just. It was the right thing to do.'

'Is that how you feel, about the one you killed?'

She looked at him for a long moment before answering.

'Yes, it is, thanks to you. I think I need to go to my family now.'

She stood, but made no move to leave. He saw her eyes flicker to the fire and allowed his own to follow them. Tucker was sitting there alone now; Reed wondered when Archer had left.

'Go,' he said. 'They'll be wondering where you are. Talk to them; tell them how you feel, let them help you. It doesn't get easier, but it will be all right.'

'And you...?' She hesitated and he gave her a wan smile.

'It's all right. Go to your family. I'm fine.'

She nodded her acceptance of his assurance, slung her firearm over her shoulder and walked away.

Left alone, Reed went back to contemplating his entwined hands. In control again, but barely so. He heard Tucker's boots crunch in the fallen capatchi fronds and couldn't decide whether he wanted his lover's company or not. The decision was made for him when Tucker knelt in the dirt and gently pulled Reed's hands apart, holding them firmly in his own.

'Malcolm,' he said softly, 'I'm sorry. I didn't know, didn't think...what it must be like for you.'

'It's my job.'

'Yes, I know, but...I just want to let you know, I'm proud of you.'

The words were like a slap in the face; he jerked his head up and tried to pull his hands away, but Tucker hung on tightly.

'You're proud that I kill people?'

'No, Mal, not for killing. For being willing to kill, and to carry the burden of it, for us. For me.'

Reed gave a shuddering sigh and Tucker moved to sit beside him on the bench, an arm round his shoulders, holding him close.

'I'm proud of you, Mal, and I love you, whatever you have to do. Never forget that.'

He leaned into the comfort of Tucker's embrace, trying unsuccessfully to stop himself shaking.

'You told her to talk to her family, to let them help her. Talk to me, tell me what you feel. You're not alone now, Mal. Let me help you, please.'

Tucker, as he always could, breached his defences and he found himself crying against his lover's shoulder as his pent-up emotions—stress, fear, guilt—finally got the better of him.

When he was reduced to the occasional hiccupping sob, Tucker helped him to his feet and over to their tent. There, tucked up in the sleeping bag, Tucker's warm body at his back, the arm round his waist securely anchoring him in the present and keeping his demons away, he finally let himself slide into a deep, exhausted sleep.


End file.
